THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 

<Ji.ft  of 
William  Daly 


THE  WORKS  OF 
EUGENE  FIELD 

Vol.  VI 


THE  WRITINGS  IN 
PROSE  AND  VERSE 
OF  EUGENE  FIELD 


FARM 


'1  • 


CHARLES  SOFTENER'S 
SONS  J  NEW  YORK  »)  899 


I 


THE  WRITINGS  IN 
PROSE  AND  VERSE 
OF  EUGENE  FIELD 


ECHOES  FROM 
THE   SABINE 
FARM    *    *    *    * 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER*S 
SONSJNEWYORKJJ899 


Copyright,  1892,  by 
A.  C.  McCLURG  &  Co. 


Copyright,  1895,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS. 


INTRODUCTION 


ONE  Sunday  evening  in  the  winter  of 
1890  Eugene  Field  and  the  writer  were 
walking  in  Lake  View,  Chicago,  on  their 
way  to  visit  the  library  of  a  common  friend, 
when  the  subject  of  publishing  a  book  for 
Field  came  up  for  discussion. 

The  Little  Book  of  Western  Verse  and  The 
Little  Book  of  Profitable  Tales  had  been  pri 
vately  printed  the  year  before  at  Chicago,  and 
Field  had  been  frequently  reminded  that  the 
writer  was  ready  and  willing  to  stand  sponsor 
for  any  new  volume  he,  Field,  might  desire 
to  bring  out. 

"  The  only  thing  I  have  on  hand  that  might 
make  a  book,"  said  Field,  "are  some  few 
paraphrases  of  the  Odes  of  Horace  which  my 
brother,  'Rose,'  and  I  have  been  fooling  over, 
and  which,  truth  to  tell,  are  certainly  freely 


INTRODUCTION 

rendered.  There  are  not  enough  of  them, 
but  we  '11  do  some  more,  and  I  '11  add  a  brief 
Life  of  Horace  as  a  preface  or  introduction." 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  Field  never  carried 
out  his  intention  with  respect  to  this  last,  for 
he  had  given  much  thought  and  study  to  the 
great  Roman  satirist,  and  what  Eugene  Field 
could  have  said  upon  the  subject  must  have 
been  of  interest.  It  is  my  belief  that  as  he 
thought  upon  the  matter  it  grew  too  great 
for  him  to  handle  within  the  space  he  had  at 
first  determined,  and  that  tucked  away  within 
the  recesses  of  his  literary  intentions  was  the 
determination,  nullified  by  his  early  death, 
to  write,  con  amore,  a  life  of  Quintus  Hora- 
tius  Flaccus. 

This  determination  to  write  separately  an 
extended  account  of  Horace  greatly  reduced 
the  bulk  of  the  material  intended  for  the  Sa- 
bine  Echoes,  and  it  was  with  respect  to  this 
that  Field  apologetically  and,  as  was  his 
wont,  humorously  wrote: 

"The  volume  may  be  rather  thin  in  cor- 
pore,  but  think  how  hefty  it  will  be  intel 
lectually." 

When  it  came  to  the  discussion  of  how 


INTRODUCTION 

many  copies  should  be  printed  it  was  sug 
gested  that  the  edition  be  an  exceedingly 
limited  one,  in  order  to  cause  as  much 
scrambling  and  heartburning  as  possible 
among  our  bibliophilic  brethren.  And  never 
shall  I  forget  the  seriousness  of  the  man's 
face,  nor  the  roars  of  laughter  that  followed, 
when  he  suggested  that  fifty  copies  only 
should  be  made,  and  that  we  should  reserve 
one  each  and  burn  the  other  forty-eight ! 

It  was  a  biting  cold  night  and  we  had  been 
loitering  by  the  way,  stopping  to  debate  each, 
point  as  it  arose  —  but  now  we  plunged  on 
with  excess  of  motion  to  keep  ourselves 
warm,  breaking  out  with  occasional  peals  of 
laughter  as  we  thought  of  our  plan  to  make 
the  publication  what  the  booksellers  call 
"  excessively  rare." 

Field,  elsewhere,  has  said  he  did  not  know 
why  the  original  intention  as  to  the  destruc 
tion  of  the  forty-eight  copies  was  not  carried 
out,  but  the  answer  is  not  far  away.  As  the 
time  for  publication  approached  it  was  found 
impossible  that  such  and  such  a  friend  should 
be  forgotten  in  the  matter  of  a  copy,  and  so 
it  went  on  until  it  was  deemed  prudent  to 
vii 


INTRODUCTION 

add  fifty  to  the  number  originally  intended 
to  be  issued,  and  that  decision,  in  the  light 
of  what  followed,  proved  to  be  an  eminently 
wise  one.  More  than  once  some  to  me  un 
known  friend  of  Field  would  write  a  pleasant 
lie  as  a  reason  to  gain  possession  of  the  book, 
and  up  in  a  corner  of  the  letter  would  be 
found  an  endorsement  of  the  request  after 
this  fashion : 

What  's  writ  below 

I  'd  have  you  know 
Nor  falsehood  nor  romance  is  ; 

It 's  solemn  truth, 

So  grant  the  youth 
The  boon  he  seeks,  dear  Francis. 

EUGENE  FIELD. 

It  is  perhaps  unnecessary  to  add  that,  how 
ever  flimsy  the  pretext  upon  which  the  re 
quest  for  a  copy  was  made,  it  never  failed  of 
its  object  if  it  brought  with  it  Field's  endorse 
ment.  Among  many  pleasant  utterances  on 
this  subject  Field  has  said  that  but  for  the 
writer  the  Horatian  verses  would  not  have 
been  given  to  the  world — and  this  has  been 
taken  to  mean  more  than  was  intended,  and 


INTRODUCTION 

much  unearned  praise  has  been  bestowed. 
But,  in  allusion  to  the  original  issue  of  the 
Odes,  Field  added,  "in  this  charming  guise," 
which  places  quite  another  construction  upon 
the  matter. 

It  may  be  that  the  enthusiasm  displayed 
not  only  pleased  Field,  and  incited  him  and 
his  brother  Roswell  to  perform  that  which, 
otherwise,  might  have  been  indefinitely  de 
ferred,  but  there  is  no  question  but  that  they 
intended  to  publish  the  Horatian  odes  at 
some  time  or  another.  Field  was  greatly 
delighted  with  the  reception  of  this  work, 
and  I  once  heard  him  say  it  would  outlive 
all  his  other  books.  He  came  naturally  by 
his  love  of  the  classics.  His  father  was  a 
splendid  scholar  who  obliged  his  sons  to 
correspond  with  him  in  Latin.  Field's  fa 
vorite  ode  was  the  Bandusian  Spring,  the 
paraphrasing  of  which  in  the  styles  of  the 
various  writers  of  different  periods  gave 
him  genuine  joy  and  is  perhaps  the  choice 
bit  of  the  collection.  The  Echoes  from  the 
Sabine  Farm  was  the  most  ambitious  work 
Field  had  attempted  up  to  the  time  of 
its  issue.  He  was  not  at  all  sure  that  the 
ix 


INTRODUCTION 

public  for  whom  he  wrote,  what  following 
he  then  felt  was  his  own,  would  accept  his 
efforts  in  this  direction  with  any  sort  of  ac 
claim.  Unquestionably,  Field,  at  all  times, 
believed  in  himself  and  in  his  power  ulti 
mately  to  make  a  name,  as  every  man  must 
who  achieves  success,  but  he  was  as  far 
from  believing  that  the  public  would  accept 
him  as  an  interpreter  of  Horatian  odes  as 
was  Edward  Fitzgerald  with  respect  to 
Omar  Khayyam.  In  short,  he  looked  upon 
his  work  in  the  original  publication  of  Echoes 
from  the  Sabine  Farm  as  a  labor  of  love — 
an  effort  from  which  some  reputation  might 
come,  but  certainly  no  monetary  remunera 
tion.  It  was  because  he  so  regarded  it  that 
he  permitted  the  work  to  be  first  issued  un 
der  the  bolstering  influence  of  a  patron.  It 
was,  so  he  thought,  an  excellent  opportu 
nity  to  show  his  friends  and  acquaintances 
that  his  Pegasus  was  capable  of  soaring  to 
classic  heights,  and  he  little  dreamed  that 
the  paraphrasing  of  the  Odes  of  Horace  over 
which  "Rose  and  I  have  been  fooling" 
would  be  required  for  a  popular  edition. 
With  the  announcement  of  the  Scribner  edi- 


INTRODUCTION 

tion  of  The  Sabine  Echoes  came  also  the  in 
telligence  of  Field's  death. 

I  have  found  people  who  were  somewhat 
puzzled  as  to  the  exact  intentions  of  the 
Fields  with  respect  to  these  translations  and 
paraphrases.  However,  there  can  be  no 
chance  for  mistake  even  to  the  veriest  em 
bryonic  reader  of  Horace,  if  he  will  but  re 
member  that,  while  some  of  these  tran 
scriptions  are  indeed  very  faithful  reproduc 
tions  or  adaptations  of  the  original,  others 
again  are  to  be  accepted  as  the  very  riot  of 
burlesque  verse-making. 

The  last  stanza  in  the  epilogue  of  this  book 
reads : 

Or  if  we  part  to  meet  no  more 
This  side  the  misty  Stygian  river, 

Be  sure  of  this :  On  yonder  shore 
Sweet  cheer  awaiteth  such  as  we  — 

A  Sabine  pagan's  heaven,  O  friend  — 
And  fellowship  that  knows  no  end. 

FRANCIS  WILSON. 

January  22,  1896. 


TO  M.  L.  GRAY. 

COME,  dear  old  friend,  and  with  us  twain 
To  calm  Digentian  groves  repair; 

The  turtle  coos  his  sweet  refrain 
And  posies  are  a-blooming  there; 

And  there  the  romping  Sabine  girls 

Bind  myrtle  in  their  lustrous  curls. 

I  know  a  certain  ilex-tree 

Whence  leaps  a  fountain  cool  and  clear. 
Its  voices  summon  you  and  me; 

Come,  let  us  haste  to  share  its  cheer! 
Methinks  the  rapturous  song  it  sings 
Should  woo  our  thoughts  from  mortal  things. 

But,  good  old  friend,  I  charge  thee  well, 
Watch  thou  my  brother  all  the  while, 

Lest  some  fair  Lydia  cast  her  spell 
Round  him  unschooled  in  female  guile. 

Those  damsels  have  no  charms  for  me; 

Guard  thou  that  brother, —  I'll  guard  thee! 


And,  lo,  sweet  friend!  behold  this  cup, 
Round  which  the  garlands  intertwine; 

With  Massic  it  is  foaming  up, 

And  we  would  drink  to  thee  and  thine. 

And  of  the  draught  thou  shalt  partake, 

Who  lov'st  us  for  our  father's  sake. 

Hark  you!  from  yonder  Sabine  farm 

Echo  the  songs  of  long  ago, 
With  power  to  soothe  and  grace  to  charm 

What  ills  humanity  may  know; 
With  that  sweet  music  in  the  air, 
T  is  Love  and  Summer  everywhere. 

So,  though  no  grief  consumes  our  lot 
(Since  all  our  lives  have  been  discreet), 

Come,  in  this  consecrated  spot, 
Let 's  see  if  pagan  cheer  be  sweet. 

Now,  then,  the  songs;  but,  first,  more  wine. 

The  gods  be  with  you,  friends  of  mine! 

E.  F. 


Contents?  of  fyi$  ^oofe 


WRITTEN    IN    COLLABORATION    WITH 
ROSWELL   MARTIN    FIELD 

PAGE 

To  M.  L.  GRAY  .........  E.  F.      .  xiii 

AN  INVITATION  TO  MAECENAS.  Odes,  III.  29  .  E.  F.      .  3 

CHLORIS  PROPERLY  REBUKED,  Odes,  III.  15  .  R.  M.  F.  6 

To  THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  BANDUSIA 

Odes,  III.  13  .  E.  F.      .  8 

To  THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  BANDUSIA.     .     .     .  R.  M.  F.  10 

THE  PREFERENCE  DECLARED.  Odes,  I.  38     .  E.  F.      .  12 

A  TARDY  APOLOGY.     I.     .  Epode  XIV.    .  R.  M.  F.  13 
A  TARDY  APOLOGY.    II  .......  E.  F.      .15 

To  THE  SHIP  OF  STATE.    .  Odes,  I.  14    .  R.  M.  F.  17 

QUITTING  AGAIN.     .     .     .  Odes,  III.  26  .  E.  F.     .  19 

SAILOR  AND  SHADE  .     .     .  Odes,  I.  28     .  E.  F.      .  21 

LET  Us  HAVE  PEACE    .     .  Odes,  I.  27     .  E.  F.     .  23 
To  QUINTUS  DELLIUS   .     .  Odes,  II.  3      .  E.  F.      .25 

POKING  FUN  AT  XANTHIAS.  Odes,  II.  4     .  R.  M.  F.  27 

To  ARISTIUS  Fuscus     .     .  Odes,  I.  22     .  E.  F.     .  30 

To  ALBIUS  TIBULLUS.    I.  .  Odes,  I.  33     .  E.  F.      .  32 

To  ALBIUS  TIBULLUS.    II  .......  R.  M.  F.  34 

To  M/ECENAS  .....  Odes,  I.  i  .     .  R.  M.  F.  36 

To  His  BOOK     ....  Epistle  XX.     .  R.  M.  F.  39 

FAME  vs.  RICHES      .  ArsPoetica,  line  323,  E.  F.      .  41 
xv 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  LYRIC  MUSE     .  Ars  Poetica,  line  301,  E.  F.      .     42 

A  COUNTERBLAST  AGAINST  GARLIC, 

Epode  III.      .  R.  M.  F.     45 

AN  EXCUSE  FOR  LALAGE     .  Odes,  II.  5.    .  R.  M.  F.     47 

AN  APPEAL  TO  LYCE     .    .  Odes,  IV.  13  .  R.  M.  F.     49 

A  ROMAN  WINTER-PIECE  I.  Odes,  I.  9  .    .  E.  F.      .     51 

A  ROMAN  WINTER-PIECE  II R.  M.  F.     53 

To  DIANA Odes,  III.  22  .  R.  M.  F.     55 

To  His  LUTE Odes,  I.  32.    .  E.  F.      .     56 

To  LEUCONOE  I Odes,  I.  n.    .  R.  M.  F.     58 

To  LEUCONOE  II E.  F.      .60 

To  LIGURINUS.    I.     ...  Odes,  IV.  10  .  R.  M.  F.     61 

To  LIGURINUS.  II E.  F.      .62 

THE  HAPPY  ISLES     .     .     .  Epode  XIV.  line  41,8.  F.     64 

CONSISTENCY Ars  Poetica     .  E.  F.      .     66 

To  POSTUMUS Odes,  II.  14    .  R.  M.  F.     69 

To  MISTRESS  PYRRHA.     I.    Odes,  I.  5       .  E.  F.      .     72 

To  MISTRESS  PYRRHA.   II R.  M.  F.     73 

To  MELPOMENE  ....  Odes,  III.  30  .  E.  F.      .     75 

To  PHYLLIS.       I.     ...  Odes,  IV.  1 1  .  E.  F.      .     77 

To  PHYLLIS.      II R.  M.  F.     80 

To  CHLOE.     I Odes,  I.  23     .  R.  M.  F.     83 

To  CHLOE.     II E.  F.      .85 

A  PARAPHRASE E.  F.      .86 

ANOTHER  PARAPHRASE E.  F.      .87 

A  THIRD  PARAPHRASE E.  F.     .88 

A  FOURTH  PARAPHRASE  .                        .  E.  F.      ,     89 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

To  M/ECENAS Odes,  I.  20    .  E.  F.     .90 

To  BARINE Odes,  II.  8.    .  R.  M.  F.     92 

THE  RECONCILIATION.     I.  .  Odes,  III.  9    .  E.  F.     -95 

THE  RECONCILIATION.    II R.  M.  F.     97 

THE  ROASTING  OF  LYDIA  .  Odes,  I.  25     .  R.  M.  F.   100 

To  GLYCERA Odes,  I.  19     .  R.  M.  F.   102 

To  LYDIA.     I Odes,  I.  13     .  E.  F.      .   104 

To  LYDIA.    II R.  M.  F.   106 

To  QUINTIUS  HIRPINUS  .  Odes,  II.  u  .  E.  F.  .  108 
WINE,  WOMEN,  AND  SONG  .  Odes,  I.  18  .  E.  F.  .  1 10 
AN  ODE  TO  FORTUNE  .  .  Odes,  I.  35  .  E.  F.  .112 
To  A  JAR  OF  WINE  .  .  Odes,  III.  21  .  E.  F.  .115 
To  POMPEIUS  VARUS  .  .  Odes,  II.  i  .  E.  F.  .117 
THE  POET'S  METAMORPHOSIS. Odes,  II.  20  .  E.  F.  .119 

To  VENUS Odes,  I.  30     .  E.  F.      .121 

IN  THE  SPRINGTIME.      I.     .  Odes,  I.  4      .  E.  F.      .122 

IN  THE  SPRINGTIME.     II R.  M.  F.   124 

To  A  BULLY Epode  VI  .     .  E.  F.      .127 

To  MOTHER  VENUS 128 

To  LYDIA Odes,  I.  8      .  E.  F.      .131 

To  NEOBULE Odes,  III.  12  .  R.  M.  F.   133 

AT  THE  BALL  GAME  .  .  Odes,  V.  17  .  R.  M.  F.  135 
EPILOGUE E.  F.  .139 


from  tip 


f  arm 


AN   INVITATION   TO   M/ECENAS 

EAR,  noble  friend !  a  virgin  cask 

Of  wine  solicits  your  attention ; 
And  roses  fair,  to  deck  your  hair, 
And  things  too  numerous  to  mention. 
So  tear  yourself  awhile  away 

From  urban  turmoil,  pride,  and  splendor, 
And  deign  to  share  what  humble  fare 

And  sumptuous  fellowship  I  tender. 
The  sweet  content  retirement  brings 
Smoothes  out  the  ruffled  front  of  kings. 

The  evil  planets  have  combined 

To  make  the  weather  hot  and  hotter; 

By  parboiled  streams  the  shepherd  dreams 
Vainly  of  ice-cream  soda-water. 

3 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

And  meanwhile  you,  defying  heat, 

With  patriotic  ardor  ponder 
On  what  old  Rome  essays  at  home, 

And  what  her  heathen  do  out  yonder. 
Maecenas,  no  such  vain  alarm 
Disturbs  the  quiet  of  this  farm ! 

God  in  His  providence  obscures 

The  goal  beyond  this  vale  of  sorrow, 
And  smiles  at  men  in  pity  when 

They  seek  to  penetrate  the  morrow. 
With  faith  that  all  is  for  the  best, 

Let 's  bear  what  burdens  are  presented, 
That  we  shall  say,  let  come  what  may, 

"  We  die,  as  we  have  lived,  contented! 
Ours  is  to-day;  God's  is  the  rest, — 
He  doth  ordain  who  knoweth  best." 

Dame  Fortune  plays  me  many  a  prank. 

When  she  is  kind,  oh,  how  I  go  it! 
But  if  again  she  's  harsh, —  why,  then 

I  am  a  very  proper  poet! 

4 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

When  favoring  gales  bring  in  my  ships, 
I  hie  to  Rome  and  live  in  clover; 

Elsewise  I  steer  my  skiff  out  here, 

And  anchor  till  the  storm  blows  over. 

Compulsory  virtue  is  the  charm 

Of  life  upon  the  Sabine  farm ! 


CHLORIS   PROPERLY   REBUKED 


CHLORIS,  my  friend,  I  pray  you  your 
misconduct  to  forswear; 
The  wife  of  poor  old  Ibycus  should  have 

more  savoir  faire. 
A  woman  at  your  time  of  life,  and  drawing 

near  death's  door, 

Should  not  play  with  the  girly  girls,  and 
think  she  's  en  rapport. 

What 's  good  enough  for  Pholoe  you  cannot 

well  essay; 
Your  daughter  very  properly  courts  thejeu- 

nesse  doree, — 
A  Thyiad,  who,  when  timbrel  beats,  cannot 

her  joy  restrain, 
But  plays  the  kid,  and  laughs  and  giggles 

d  I '  Americaine. 

6 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

T  is  more  becoming,  Madame,  in  a  creature 

old  and  poor, 
To  sit  and  spin  than  to  engage  in  an  affaire 

d' amour. 
The  lutes,  the  roses,  and  the  wine  drained 

deep  are  not  for  you ; 
Remember  what  the  poet  says:  Ce  monde 

estplein  de  fous  ! 


TO  THE   FOUNTAIN   OF  BANDUSIA 


O  FOUNTAIN  of  Bandusia ! 
Whence  crystal  waters  flow, 
With  garlands  gay  and  wine  I  '11  pay 

The  sacrifice  I  owe; 
A  sportive  kid  with  budding  horns 

I  have,  whose  crimson  blood 
Anon  shall  dye  and  sanctify 
Thy  cool  and  babbling  flood. 

O  fountain  of  Bandusia! 

The  Dog-star's  hateful  spell 
No  evil  brings  into  the  springs 

That  from  thy  bosom  well ; 
Here  oxen,  wearied  by  the  plow, 

The  roving  cattle  here 
Hasten  in  quest  of  certain  rest, 

And  quaff  thy  gracious  cheer. 
8 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

O  fountain  of  Bandusia! 

Ennobled  shalt  thou  be, 
For  I  shall  sing  the  joys  that  spring 

Beneath  yon  ilex-tree. 
Yes,  fountain  of  Bandusia, 

Posterity  shall  know 
The  cooling  brooks  that  from  thy  nooks 

Singing  and  dancing  go. 


TO  THE   FOUNTAIN   OF  BANDUSIA 


O   FOUNTAIN  of  Bandusia!  more  glit 
tering  than  glass, 
And  worthy  of  the  pleasant  wine  and  toasts 

that  freely  pass ; 
More  worthy  of  the  flowers  with  which 

thou  modestly  art  hid, 
To-morrow  willing  hands  shall  sacrifice  to 
thee  a  kid. 

In  vain  the  glory  of  the  brow  where  proudly 

swell  above 
The  growing  horns,  significant  of  battle  and 

of  love ; 
For  in  thy  honor  he  shall  die, —  the  offspring 

of  the  herd, — 
And  with  his  crimson  life-blood  thy  cold 

waters  shall  be  stirred. 


ECHOES   FROM  THE   SABINE   FARM 

The  Dog-star's  cruel  season,  with  its  fierce 

and  blazing  heat, 
Has  never  sent  its  scorching  rays  into  thy 

glad  retreat; 
The  oxen,  wearied  with  the  plow,  the  herd 

which  wanders  near, 
Have  found  a  grateful  respite  and  delicious 

coolness  here. 

When  of  the  graceful  ilex  on  the  hollow 

rocks  I  sing, 
Thou  shalt  become  illustrious,  O  sweet  Ban- 

dusian  spring ! 
Among  the  noble  fountains  which  have  been 

enshrined  in  fame, 
Thy  dancing,  babbling  waters  shall  in  song 

our  homage  claim. 


B 


THE   PREFERENCE   DECLARED 

OY,  I  detest  the  Persian  pomp; 
I  hate  those  linden-bark  devices; 
And  as  for  roses,  holy  Moses ! 

They  can't  be  got  at  living  prices 
Myrtle  is  good  enough  for  us, — 

For  you,  as  bearer  of  my  flagon  ; 
For  me,  supine  beneath  this  vine, 

Doing  my  best  to  get  a  jag  on ! 


12 


A  TARDY  APOLOGY 


MAECENAS,  you  will  be  my  death, — 
though  friendly  you  profess  yourself, — 
If  to  me  in  a  strain  like  this  so  often  you  ad 
dress  yourself : 
"Come,   Holly,  why  this  laziness?    Why 

indolently  shock  you  us  ? 
Why  with  Lethean  cups  fall  into  desuetude 
innocuous  ? " 

A  god,  Maecenas!  yea,  a  god  hath  proved 
the  very  curse  of  me  ! 

If  my  iambics  are  not  done,  pray,  do  not 
think  the  worse  of  me; 

Anacreon  for  young  Bathyllus  burned  with 
out  apology, 

And  wept  his  simple  measures  on  a  sample 
of  conchology. 

13 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Now,  you  yourself,  Maecenas,  are  enjoying 

this  beatitude ; 
If  by  no  brighter  beauty  Ilium  fell,  you  've 

cause  for  gratitude. 
A  certain  Phryne  keeps  me  on  the  rack  with 

lovers  numerous; 
This  is  the  artful  hussy's  neat  conception  of 

the  humorous! 


'4 


A  TARDY  APOLOGY 


Y 


'OU  ask  me,  friend, 
Why  I  don't  send 
The  long  since  due-and-paid-for  numbers; 
Why,  songless,  I 
As  drunken  lie 
Abandoned  to  Lethean  slumbers. 

Long  time  ago 

(As  well  you  know) 
I  started  in  upon  that  carmen; 

My  work  was  vain, — 

But  why  complain  ? 

When  gods  forbid,  how  helpless  are  men ! 
15 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE  FARM 

Some  ages  back, 

The  sage  Anack 
Courted  a  frisky  Samian  body, 

Singing  her  praise 

In  metered  phrase 
As  flowing  as  his  bowls  of  toddy. 

Till  I  was  hoarse 

Might  I  discourse 
Upon  the  cruelties  of  Venus; 

T  were  waste  of  time 

As  well  of  rhyme, 
For  you  've  been  there  yourself,  Maecenas! 

Perfect  your  bliss 

If  some  fair  miss 
Love  you  yourself  and  not  your  minae; 

I,  fortune's  sport, 

All  vainly  court 
The  beauteous,  polyandrous  Phryne ! 


16 


TO  THE  SHIP  OF  STATE 


/~\   SHIP  of  state, 


Shall  new  winds  bear  you  back  upon 

the  sea  ? 

What  are  you  doing  ?    Seek  the  harbor's  lee 
Ere  't  is  too  late ! 

Do  you  bemoan 
Your  side  was  stripped  of  oarage  in  the 

blast? 

Swift    Africus    has    weakened,    too,   your 
mast; 

The  sailyards  groan. 
'7 


ECHOES    FROM   THE   SABINE   FARM 

Of  cables  bare, 

Your  keel  can  scarce  endure  the  lordly  wave. 
Your  sails  are  rent;  you  have  no  gods  to 
save, 

Or  answer  pray'r. 

Though  Pontic  pine, 

The  noble  daughter  of  a  far-famed  wood, 
You  boast  your  lineage  and  title  good, — 

A  useless  line! 

The  sailor  there 

In  painted  sterns  no  reassurance  finds; 
Unless  you  owe  derision  to  the  winds, 

Beware  —  beware ! 

My  grief  erewhile, 
But  now  my  care  —  my  longing!  shun  the 

seas 
That  flow  between  the  gleaming  Cyclades, 

Each  shining  isle. 


18 


QUITTING  AGAIN 

THE  hero  of 
Affairs  of  love 

By  far  too  numerous  to  be  mentioned, 
And  scarred  as  I  'm, 
It  seemeth  time 
That  I  were  mustered  out  and  pensioned. 

So  on  this  wall 

My  lute  and  all 
I  hang,  and  dedicate  to  Venus; 

And  I  implore 

But  one  thing  more 
Ere  all  is  at  an  end  between  us. 
19 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE  FARM 

O  goddess  fair 

Who  reignest  where 
The  weather  's  seldom  bleak  and  snowy, 

This  boon  I  urge: 

In  anger  scourge 
My  old  cantankerous  sweetheart,  Chloe ! 


20 


SAILOR    AND   SHADE 

SAILOR 

YOU,  who  have  compassed  land  and  sea, 
Now  all  unburied  lie; 
All  vain  your  store  of  human  lore, 

For  you  were  doomed  to  die. 
The  sire  of  Pelops  likewise  fell, — 

Jove's  honored  mortal  guest; 
So  king  and  sage  of  every  age 

At  last  lie  down  to  rest. 
Plutonian  shades  enfold  the  ghost 

Of  that  majestic  one 
Who  taught  as  truth  that  he,  forsooth, 

Had  once  been  Pentheus'  son ; 
Believe  who  may,  he  's  passed  away, 

And  what  he  did  is  done. 
A  last  night  comes  alike  to  all; 

One  path  we  all  must  tread, 

21 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   SABINE   FARM 

Through  sore  disease  or  stormy  seas 

Or  fields  with  corpses  red. 
Whate'er  our  deeds,  that  pathway  leads 

To  regions  of  the  dead. 

SHADE 

The  fickle  twin  Illyrian  gales 

Overwhelmed  me  on  the  wave; 
But  you  that  live,  I  pray  you  give 

My  bleaching  bones  a  grave! 
Oh,  then  when  cruel  tempests  rage 

You  all  unharmed  shaH  be; 
Jove's  mighty  hand  shall  guard  by  land 

And  Neptune's  on  the  sea. 
Perchance  you  fear  to  do  what  may 

Bring  evil  to  your  race  ? 
Oh,  rather  fear  that  like  me  here 

You  '11  lack  a  burial  place. 
So,  though  you  be  in  proper  haste, 

Bide  long  enough,  I  pray, 
To  give  me,  friend,  what  boon  shall  send 

My  soul  upon  its  way ! 

22 


LET   US   HAVE   PEACE 


IN  maudlin  spite  let  Thracians  fight 
Above  their  bowls  of  liquor; 
But  such  as  we,  when  on  a  spree, 
Should  never  brawl  and  bicker! 

These  angry  words  and  clashing  swords 
Are  quite  de  trop,  I  'm  thinking; 

Brace  up,  my  boys,  and  hush  your  noise, 
And  drown  your  wrath  in  drinking. 

Aha,  't  is  fine, —  this  mellow  wine 
With  which  our  host  would  dope  us! 

Now  let  us  hear  what  pretty  dear 
Entangles  him  of  Opus. 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

I  see  you  blush, — nay,  comrades,  hush! 

Come,  friend,  though  they  despise  you, 
Tell  me  the  name  of  that  fair  dame, — 

Perchance  I  may  advise  you. 

O  wretched  youth !  and  is  it  truth 

You  love  that  fickle  lady  ? 
I,  doting  dunce,  courted  her  once; 

Since  when,  she  's  reckoned  shady! 


TO  QUINTUS  DELLIUS 


BE  tranquil,  Dellius,  I  pray; 
For  though  you  pine  your  life  away 
With  dull  complaining  breath, 
Or  speed  with  song  and  wine  each  day, 
Still,  still  your  doom  is  death. 

Where  the  white  poplar  and  the  pine 
In  glorious  arching  shade  combine, 

And  the  brook  singing  goes, 
Bid  them  bring  store  of  nard  and  wine 

And  garlands  of  the  rose. 

Let 's  live  while  chance  and  youth  obtain ; 
Soon  shall  you  quit  this  fair  domain 

Kissed  by  the  Tiber's  gold, 
And  all  your  earthly  pride  and  gain 

Some  heedless  heir  shall  hold. 
25 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE   FARM 

One  ghostly  boat  shall  some  time  bear 
From  scenes  of  mirthfulness  or  care 

Each  fated  human  soul,— 
Shall  waft  and  leave  its  burden  where 

The  waves  of  Lethe  roll. 

So  come,  I  prithee,  Dettius  mine; 

Let 's  sing  our  songs  and  drink  our  wine 

In  that  sequestered  nook 
Where  the  white  poplar  and  the  pine 

Stand  listening  to  the  brook. 


POKING   FUN   AT   XANTHIAS 


OF  your  love  for  your  handmaid  you 
need  feel  no  shame. 
Don't  apologize,  Xanthias,  pray; 
Remember,  Achilles  the  proud  felt  a  flame 

For  Brissy,  his  slave,  as  they  say. 
Old  Telamon's  son,  fiery  Ajax,  was  moved 

By  the  captive  Tecmessa's  ripe  charms ; 
And  Atrides,  suspending  the  feast,  it  be 
hooved 
To  gather  a  girl  to  his  arms. 

Now,  how  do  you  know  that  this  yellow- 
haired  maid 

(This  Phyllis  you  fain  would  enjoy) 
27 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Has  n't  parents  whose  wealth  would  cast 

you  in  the  shade, — 
Who   would    ornament   you,   Xan,    my 

boy? 
Very  likely  the  poor  chick  sheds  copious 

tears, 

And  is  bitterly  thinking  the  while 
Of  the  royal  good  times  of  her  earlier  years, 
When  her  folks  regulated  the  style! 

It  won't  do  at  all,  my  dear  boy,  to  believe 

That  she  of  whose  charms  you  are  proud 
Is  beautiful  only  as  means  to  deceive, — 

Merely  one  of  the  horrible  crowd. 
So  constant  a  sweetheart,  so  loving  a  wife, 

So  averse  to  all  notions  of  greed 
Was  surely  not  born  of  a  mother  whose  life 

Is  a  chapter  you  'd  better  not  read. 

As  an  unbiased  party  I  feel  it  my  place 
(For  I  don't  like  to  do  things  by  halves) 
28 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE   FARM 

To  compliment  Phyllis, —  her  arms  and  her 

face 

And  (excuse  me!)  her  delicate  calves. 
Tut,   tut!    don't    get  angry,   my  boy,   or 

suspect 

You  have  any  occasion  to  fear 
A  man  whose  deportment  is  always  correct, 
And  is  now  in  his  forty-first  year ! 


20 


TO   ARISTIUS   FUSCUS 


FUSCUS,  whoso  to  good  inclines, 
And  is  a  faultless  liver, 
Nor  Moorish  spear  nor  bow  need  fear, 
Nor  poison-arrowed  quiver. 

Ay,  though  through  desert  wastes  he  roam, 
Or  scale  the  rugged  mountains, 

Or  rest  beside  the  murmuring  tide 
Of  weird  Hydaspan  fountains ! 

Lo,  on  a  time,  I  gayly  paced 

The  Sabine  confines  shady, 
And  sung  in  glee  of  Lalage, 

My  own  and  dearest  lady; 
30 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE   FARM 

And  as  I  sung,  a  monster  wolf 
Slunk  through  the  thicket  from  me; 

But  for  that  song,  as  I  strolled  along, 
He  would  have  overcome  me! 

Set  me  amid  those  poison  mists 
Which  no  fair  gale  dispelleth, 

Or  in  the  plains  where  silence  reigns, 
And  no  thing  human  dwelleth, — 

Still  shall  I  love  my  Lalage, 
Still  sing  her  tender  graces ; 

And  while  I  sing,  my  theme  shall  bring 
Heaven  to  those  desert  places ! 


3< 


TO  ALBIUS  TIBULLUS 

i 

NOT  to  lament  that  rival  flame 
Wherewith    the    heartless    Glycera 
scorns  you, 

Nor  waste  your  time  in  maudlin  rhyme, 
How  many  a  modern  instance  warns  you! 

Fair-browed  Lycoris  pines  away 
Because  her  Cyrus  loves  another; 

The  ruthless  churl  informs  the  girl 
He  loves  her  only  as  a  brother! 

For  he,  in  turn,  courts  Pholoe,— 

A  maid  unscotched  of  love's  fierce  virus ; 
Why,  goats   will  mate   with  wolves   they 

hate 

Ere  Pholoe  will  mate  with  Cyrus! 
32 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Ah,  weak  and  hapless  human  hearts, 

By  cruel  Mother  Venus  fated 
To  spend  this  life  in  hopeless  strife, 

Because  incongruously  mated ! 

Such  torture,  Albius,  is  my  lot; 

For,  though  a  better  mistress  wooed  me, 
My  Myrtale  has  captured  me, 

And  with  her  cruelties  subdued  me! 


33 


TO  ALBIUS  TIBULLUS 


GRIEVE  not,  my  Albius,  if  thoughts  of 
Glycera  may  haunt  you, 
Nor  chant  your  mournful  elegies  because 

she  faithless  proves ; 
If  now  a  younger  man  than  you  this  cruel 

charmer  loves, 

Let  not  the  kindly  favors  of  the  past  rise  up 
to  taunt  you. 

Lycoris  of  the  little  brow  for  Cyrus  feels  a 

passion, 
And  Cyrus,  on  the  other  hand,  toward 

Pholoe  inclines; 
But  ere  this  crafty  Cyrus  can  accomplish 

his  designs 

She-goats  will  wed  Apulian  wolves  in  defer 
ence  to  fashion. 

34 


ECHOES    FROM   THE  SABINE    FARM 

Such  is  the  will,  the  cruel  will,  of  love-in 
citing  Venus, 
Who  takes  delight  in  wanton  sport  and 

ill-considered  jokes, 
And  brings  ridiculous  misfits  beneath  her 

brazen  yokes, — 

A  very  infelicitous  proceeding,  just  between 
us. 

As  for  myself,  young  Myrtale,  slave-born 

and  lacking  graces, 
And  wilder  than  the  Adrian  tides  which 

form  Calabrian  bays, 

Entangled  me  in  pleasing  chains  and  com 
promising  ways, 

When — just  my  luck  —  a  better  girl  was 
courting  my  embraces. 


TO   M/ECENAS 


MAECENAS,  thou  of  royalty's  descent, 
Both  my  protector  and  dear  ornament, 
Among  humanity's  conditions  are 
Those  who  take  pleasure  in  the  flying  car, 
Whirling  Olympian  dust,  as  on  they  roll, 
And  shunning  with  the  glowing  wheel  the 

goal; 

While  the  ennobling  palm,  the  prize  of  worth, 
Exalts  them  to  the  gods,  the  lords  of  earth. 

Here  one  is  happy  if  the  fickle  crowd 
His  name  the  threefold  honor  has  allowed; 
And  there  another,  if  into  his  stores 
Comes  what  is  swept  from  Libyan  threshing- 
floors. 

He  who  delights  to  till  his  father's  lands, 
And  grasps  the  delving-hoe  with  willing 
hands, 

36 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE   FARM 

Can  never  to  Attalic  offers  hark, 
Or  cut  the  Myrtoan  Sea  with  Cyprian  bark. 
The  merchant,  timorous  of  Afric's  breeze, 
When  fiercely  struggling  with  Icarian  seas 
Praises  the  restful  quiet  of  his  home, 
Nor  wishes  from  the  peaceful  fields  to  roam ; 
Ah,  speedily  his  shattered  ships  he  mends, — 
To  poverty  his  lesson  ne'er  extends. 

One  there  may  be  who  never  scorns  to  fill 
His  cups  with  mellow  draughts  from  Massic's 

hill, 

Nor  from  the  busy  day  an  hour  to  wean, 
Now  stretched  at  length  beneath  the  arbute 

green, 
Now  at  the  softly  whispering  spring,   to 

dream 
Of  the  fair  nymphs  who  haunt  the  sacred 

stream. 
For  camp  and  trump  and  clarion  some  have 

zest, — 
The  cruel  wars  the  mothers  so  detest. 

37 


ECHOES   FROM   THE   SABINE   FARM 

'Neath  the  cold  sky  the  hunter  spends  his 

life, 

Unmindful  of  his  home  and  tender  wife, 
Whether  the  doe  is  seen  by  faithful  hounds 
Or  Marsian  boar  through  the  fine  meshes 

bounds. 

But  as  for  me,  the  ivy-wreaths,  the  prize 
Of  learned  brows,  exalt  me  to  the  skies; 
The  shady  grove,  the  nymphs  and  satyrs 

there, 

Draw  me  away  from  people  everywhere; 
If  it  may  be,  Euterpe's  flute  inspires, 
Or  Polyhymnia  strikes  the  Lesbian  lyres ; 
And  if  you  place  me  where  no  bard  debars, 
With  head  exalted  I  shall  strike  the  stars! 


TO   HIS   BOOK 


YOU  vain,  self-conscious  little  book, 
Companion  of  my  happy  days, 
How  eagerly  you  seem  to  look 
For  wider  fields  to  spread  your  lays ; 
My  desk  and  locks  cannot  contain  you, 
Nor  blush  of  modesty  restrain  you. 

Well,  then,  begone,  fool  that  thou  art! 
But  do  not  come  to  me  and  cry, 

When  critics  strike  you  to  the  heart: 
"Oh,  wretched  little  book  am  I ! " 

You  know  I  tried  to  educate  you 

To  shun  the  fate  that  must  await  you. 
39 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

In  youth  you  may  encounter  friends 
(Pray  this  prediction  be  not  wrong), 

But  wait  until  old  age  descends 
And  thumbs  have  smeared  your  gentlest 
song; 

Then  will  the  moths  connive  to  eat  you 

And  rural  libraries  secrete  you. 

However,  should  a  friend  some  word 
Of  my  obscure  career  request, 

Tell  him  how  deeply  I  was  stirred 
To  spread  my  wings  beyond  the  nest; 

Take  from  my  years,  which  are  before  you, 

To  boom  my  merits,  I  implore  you. 

Tell  him  that  I  am  short  and  fat, 
Quick  in  my  temper,  soon  appeased, 

With  locks  of  gray, — but  what  of  that  ? 
Loving  the  sun,  with  nature  pleased. 

I  'm  more  than  four  and  forty,  hark  you,— 

But  ready  for  a  night  off,  mark  you ! 


40 


FAME  vs.   RICHES 


'"T"SHE  Greeks  had  genius, —  't  was  a  gift 
1     The    Muse    vouchsafed    in    glorious 
measure ; 

The  boon  of  Fame  they  made  their  aim 
And  prized  above  all  worldly  treasure. 

But  we, —  how  do  we  train  our  youth  ? 

Not  in  the  arts  that  are  immortal, 
But  in  the  greed  for  gains  that  speed 

From  him  who  stands  at  Death's  dark 
portal. 

Ah,  when  this  slavish  love  of  gold 
Once  binds  the  soul  in  greasy  fetters, 

How  prostrate  lies, —  how  droops  and  dies 
The  great,  the  noble  cause  of  letters ! 


THE   LYRIC  MUSE 


1LOVE  the  lyric  muse! 
For  when  mankind  ran  wild  in  grooves 
Came  holy  Orpheus  with  his  songs 
And  turned  men's  hearts  from  bestial  loves, 

From  brutal  force  and  savage  wrongs ; 
Amphion,  too,  and  on  his  lyre 

Made  such  sweet  music  all  the  day 
That  rocks,  instinct  with  warm  desire, 
Pursued  him  in  his  glorious  way. 

I  love  the  lyric  muse ! 
Hers  was  the  wisdom  that  of  yore 

Taught  man  the  rights  of  fellow  man, 
Taught  him  to  worship  God  the  more, 

And  to  revere  love's  holy  ban. 
42 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Hers  was  the  hand  that  jotted  down 
The  laws  correcting  divers  wrongs; 

And  so  came  honor  and  renown 
To  bards  and  to  their  noble  songs. 


I  love  the  lyric  muse! 
Old  Homer  sung  unto  the  lyre; 

Tyrtaeus,  too,  in  ancient  days ; 
Still  warmed  by  their  immortal  fire, 

How  doth  our  patriot  spirit  blaze! 
The  oracle,  when  questioned,  sings; 

So  our  first  steps  in  life  are  taught. 
In  verse  we  soothe  the  pride  of  kings, 

In  verse  the  drama  has  been  wrought. 


I  love  the  lyric  muse! 
Be  not  ashamed,  O  noble  friend, 

In  honest  gratitude  to  pay 
Thy  homage  to  the  gods  that  send 

This  boon  to  charm  all  ill  away. 

43 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SAB1NE   FARM 

With  solemn  tenderness  revere 
This  voiceful  glory  as  a  shrine 

Wherein  the  quickened  heart  may  hear 
The  counsels  of  a  voice  divine! 


44 


A   COUNTERBLAST  AGAINST  GARLIC 


MAY  the  man  who  has  cruelly  murdered 
his  sire  — 

A  crime  to  be  punished  with  death  — 
Be  condemned  to  eat  garlic  till  he  shall  expire 

Of  his  own  foul  and  venomous  breath  ! 
What  stomachs  these  rustics  must  have  who 

can  eat 

This  dish  that  Canidia  made, 
Which  imparts  to  my  colon  a  torturous  heat, 
And  a  poisonous  look,  I  'm  afraid ! 

They  say  that  ere  Jason  attempted  to  yoke 
The  fire-breathing  bulls  to  the  plow 

He  smeared  his  whole  body  with  garlic, — a 

joke 
Which  I  fully  appreciate  now. 

45 


ECHOES   FROM  THE   SABINE    FARM 

When   Medea  gave   Glauce    her    beautiful 
dress, 

In  which  garlic  was  scattered  about, 
It  was  cruel  and  rather  low-down,  I  confess, 

But  it  settled  the  point  beyond  doubt. 

On  thirsty  Apulia  ne'er  has  the  sun 

Inflicted  such  terrible  heat; 
As  for  Hercules'  robe,  although  poisoned, 
't  was  fun 

When  compared  with  this  garlic  we  eat! 
Maecenas,  if  ever  on  garbage  like  this 

You  express  a  desire  to  be  fed, 
May  Mrs.  Maecenas  object  to  your  kiss, 

And  lie  at  the  foot  of  the  bed ! 


46 


AN   EXCUSE   FOR   LALAGE 


TO  bear  the  yoke  not  yet  your  love's 
submissive  neck  is  bent, 
To  share  a  husband's  toil,  or  grasp  his  amor 
ous  intent; 
Over  the  fields,  in  cooling  streams,  the  heifer 

longs  to  go, 

Now  with  the  calves  disporting  where  the 
pussy-willows  grow. 

Give  up  your  thirst  for  unripe  grapes,  and, 

trust  me,  you  shall  learn 
How  quickly  in  the  autumn  time  to  purple 

they  will  turn. 
Soon   she  will  follow  you,  for  age  steals 

swiftly  on  the  maid; 
And  all  the  precious  years  that  you  have 

lost  she  will  have  paid. 

47 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Soon  she  will  seek  a  lord,  beloved  as  Pholoe, 

the  coy, 
Or  Chloris,  or  young  Gyges,  that  deceitful, 

girlish  boy, 
Whom,  if  you  placed  among  the  girls,  and 

loosed  his  flowing  locks, 
The  wondering   guests   could   not   decide 

which  one  decorum  shocks. 


48 


AN   APPEAL  TO  LYCE 

CCE,  the  gods  have  heard  my  prayers, 
as  gods  will  hear  the  dutiful, 
And  brought  old  age  upon  you,  though  you 

still  affect  the  beautiful. 
You  sport  among  the  boys,  and  drink  and 

chatter  on  quite  aimlessly ; 
And  in  your  cups  with  quavering  voice  you 
torment  Cupid  shamelessly. 

For  blooming  Chia,  Cupid  has  a  feeling  more 
than  brotherly; 

He  knows  a  handsaw  from  a  hawk  when 
ever  winds  are  southerly. 

He  pats  her  pretty  cheeks,  but  looks  on  you 
as  a  monstrosity; 

Your  wrinkles  and  your  yellow  teeth  excite 
his  animosity. 

49 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

For  jewels  bright  and  purple  Coan   robes 

you  are  not  dressable; 
Unhappily  for  you,  the  public  records  are 

accessible. 
Where  is  your  charm,  and  where  your  bloom 

and  gait  so  firm  and  sensible, 
That  drew  my  love  from  Cinara, —  a  lapse 

most  indefensible  ? 

To  my  poor  Cinara  in  youth  Death  came 

with  great  celerity ; 
Egad,  that  never  can  be  said  of  you  with 

any  verity ! 
The  old  crow  that  you  are,  the  teasing  boys 

will  jeer,  compelling  you 
To  roost  at  home.    Reflect,  all  this  is  straight 

that  I  am  telling  you. 


A  ROMAN  WINTER-PIECE 

i 

SEE,   Thaliarch  mine,  how,  white  with 
snow, 

Soracte  mocks  the  sullen  sky ; 
How,  groaning  loud,  the  woods  are  bowed, 
And  chained  with  frost  the  rivers  lie. 

Pile,  pile  the  logs  upon  the  hearth ; 

We  '11  melt  away  the  envious  cold: 
And,  better  yet,  sweet  friend,  we  'II  wet 

Our  whistles  with  some  four-year-old. 

Commit  all  else  unto  the  gods, 

Who,  when  it  pleaseth  them,  shall  bring 
To  fretful  deeps  and  wooded  steeps 

The  mild,  persuasive  grace  of  Spring. 
5' 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Let  not  To-morrow,  but  To-day, 
Your  ever  active  thoughts  engage ; 

Frisk,  dance,  and  sing,  and  have  your  fling, 
Unharmed,  unawed  of  crabbed  Age. 

Let 's  steal  content  from  Winter's  wrath, 

And  glory  in  the  artful  theft, 
That  years  from  now  folks  shall  allow 

'T  was  cold  indeed  when  we  got  left. 

So  where  the  whisperings  and  the  mirth 

Of  girls  invite  a  sportive  chap, 
Let 's  fare  awhile, —  aha,  you  smile; 

You  guess  my  meaning, — verbum  sap. 


A  ROMAN  WINTER-PIECE 


NOW  stands  Soracte  white  with  snow, 
now  bend  the  laboring  trees, 
And  with  the  sharpness  of  the  frost  the  stag 
nant  rivers  freeze. 
Pile  up  the  billets  on  the  hearth,  to  warmer 

cheer  incline, 

And  draw,  my  Thaliarchus,  from  the  Sabine 
jar  the  wine. 

The  rest  leave  to  the  gods,  who  still  the 

fiercely  warring  wind, 
And  to  the  morrow's  store  of  good  or  evil 

give  no  mind. 
Whatever  day  your  fortune  grants,  that  day 

mark  up  for  gain ; 
And  in  your  youthful  bloom  do  not  the  sweet 

amours  disdain. 

53 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Now  on  the  Campus  and  the  squares,  when 

evening  shades  descend, 
Soft  whisperings  again  are  heard,  and  loving 

voices  blend; 
And  now  the  low  delightful  laugh  betrays 

the  lurking  maid,  ; 
While  from  her  slowly  yielding  arms  the 

forfeiture  is  paid. 


54 


TO  DIANA 


O  VIRGIN,  tri-formed  goddess  fair, 
The  guardian  of  the  groves  and  hills, 
Who  hears  the  girls  in  their  despair 
Cry  out  in  childbirth's  cruel  ills, 

And  saves  them  from  the  Stygian  flow ! 
Let  the  pine-tree  my  cottage  near 

Be  sacred  to  thee  evermore, 
That  I  may  give  to  it  each  year 
With  joy  the  life-blood  of  the  boar, 
Now  thinking  of  the  sidelong  blow. 


55 


TO  HIS  LUTE 


IF  ever  in  the  sylvan  shade 
A  song  immortal  we  have  made, 
Come  now,  O  lute,  I  prithee  come, 
Inspire  a  song  of  Latium ! 

A  Lesbian  first  thy  glories  proved ; 
In  arms  and  in  repose  he  loved 
To  sweep  thy  dulcet  strings,  and  raise 
His  voice  in  Love's  and  Liber's  praise. 
The  Muses,  too,  and  him  who  clings 
To  Mother  Venus'  apron-strings, 
And  Lycus  beautiful,  he  sung 
In  those  old  days  when  you  were  young. 
56 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE  FARM 

O  shell,  that  art  the  ornament 
Of  Phoebus,  bringing  sweet  content 
To  Jove,  and  soothing  troubles  all, — 
Come  and  requite  me,  when  I  call! 


57 


TO  LEUCONOE 

i 

WHAT  end  the  gods  may  have  or 
dained  for  me, 
And  what  for  thee, 
Seek  not  to  learn,  Leuconoe;  we  may  not 

know. 

Chaldean  tables  cannot  bring  us  rest. 
T  is  for  the  best 

To  bear  in  patience  what  may  come,  or 
weal  or  woe. 

If  for  more  winters  our  poor  lot  is  cast, 
Or  this  the  last, 

Which  on  the  crumbling  rocks  has  dashed 
Etruscan  seas, 

58 


ECHOES  FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Strain  clear  the  wine ;  this  life  is  short,  at  best. 
Take  hope  with  zest, 
And,  trusting  not  To-morrow,  snatch  To 
day  for  ease ! 


59 


TO  LEUCONOE 


SEEK  not,  Leuconoe,  to  know  how  long 
you  're  going  to  live  yet, 
What  boons  the  gods  will  yet  withhold,  or 

what  they  're  going  to  give  yet; 
For  Jupiter  will  have  his  way,  despite  how 

much  we  worry, — 
Some  will  hang  on  for  many  a  day,  and  some 

die  in  a  hurry. 
The  wisest  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  embark 

this  diem 
Upon  a  merry  escapade  with  some   such 

bard  as  I  am. 
And  while  we  sport  I  '11  reel  you  off  such 

odes  as  shall  surprise  ye ; 
To-morrow,  when  the  headache  comes, — 

well,  then  I  '11  satirize  ye! 
60 


TO  LIGURINUS 


THOUGH  mighty  in  Love's  favor  still, 
Though  cruel  yet,  my  boy, 
When  the  unwelcome  dawn  shall  chill 

Your  pride  and  youthful  joy, 
The  hair  which  round  your  shoulder  grows 

Is  rudely  cut  away, 
Your  color,  redder  than  the  rose, 
Is  changed  by  youth's  decay, — 

Then,  Ligurinus,  in  the  glass 

Another  you  will  spy. 
And  as  the  shaggy  face,  alas ! 

You  see,  your  grief  will  cry : 
"  Why  in  my  youth  could  I  not  learn 

The  wisdom  men  enjoy  ? 
Or  why  to  men  cannot  return 

The  smooth  cheeks  of  the  boy  ?  " 

01 


TO   LIGURINUS 


O  CRUEL  fair, 
Whose  flowing  hair 
The  envy  and  the  pride  of  all  is, 
As  onward  roll 
The  years,  that  poll 
Will  get  as  bald  as  a  billiard  ball  is ; 
Then  shall  your  skin,  now  pink  and  dimply, 
Be  tanned  to  parchment,  sear  and  pimply! 

When  you  behold 
Yourself  grown  old, 

These   words    shall   speak    your    spirits 
moody: 

62 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

"  Unhappy  one! 
What  heaps  of  fun 
I  've  missed  by  being  goody-goody ! 
Oh,  that  I  might  have  felt  the  hunger 
Of  loveless  age  when  I  was  younger!  " 


THE   HAPPY  ISLES 


OH,  come  with  me  to  the  Happy  Isles 
In  the  golden  haze  off  yonder, 
Where  the  song  of  the  sun-kissed  breeze 

beguiles 
And  the  ocean  loves  to  wander. 

Fragrant  the  vines  that  mantle  those  hills, 

Proudly  the  fig  rejoices, 
Merrily  dance  the  virgin  rills, 

Blending  their  myriad  voices. 

Our  herds  shall  suffer  no  evil  there, 
But  peacefully  feed  and  rest  them; 

Never  thereto  shall  prowling  bear 
Or  serpent  come  to  molest  them. 
64 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE  FARM 

Neither  shall  Eurus,  wanton  bold, 
Nor  feverish  drought  distress  us, 

But  he  that  compasseth  heat  and  cold 
Shall  temper  them  both  to  bless  us. 

There  no  vandal  foot  has  trod, 
And  the  pirate  hordes  that  wander 

Shall  never  profane  the  sacred  sod 
Of  those  beautiful  isles  out  yonder. 

Never  a  spell  shall  blight  our  vines, 

Nor  Sirius  blaze  above  us, 
But  you  and  I  shall  drink  our  wines 

And  sing  to  the  loved  that  love  us. 

So  come  with  me  where  Fortune  smiles 
And  the  gods  invite  devotion, — 

Oh,  come  with  me  to  the  Happy  Isles 
In  the  haze  of  that  far-off  ocean ! 


CONSISTENCY 


SHOULD  painter  attach  to  a  fair  human 
head 

The  thick,  turgid  neck  of  a  stallion, 
Or  depict  a  spruce  lass  with  the  tail  of  a 

bass, 
I  am  sure  you  would  guy  the  rapscallion. 

Believe  me,   dear  Pisos,  that  just  such  a 

freak 

Is  the  crude  and  preposterous  poem 
Which   merely  abounds    in   a  torrent    of 

sounds, 

With  no  depth  of  reason  below  'em. 
66 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE  FARM 

'T  is  all  very  well  to  give  license  to  art, — 
The  wisdom  of  license  defend  I; 

But  the  line  should  be  drawn  at  the  fripper- 

ish  spawn 
Of  a  mere  cacoethes  scribendi. 


It  is  too  much  the  fashion  to  strain  at  ef 
fects, — 

Yes,  that 's  what 's  the  matter  with  Han 
nah! 

Our  popular  taste,  by  the  tyros  debased, 
Paints  each  barnyard  a  grove  of  Diana! 


Should  a  patron  require  you  to  paint  a  ma 
rine, 
Would  you  work  in  some  trees  with  their 

barks  on  ? 

When  his  strict  orders  are  for  a  Japanese  jar, 
Would  you  give  him  a  pitcher  like  Clark- 
son  ? 

67 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Now,  this  is  my  moral:  Compose  what  you 
may, 

And  Fame  will  be  ever  far  distant 
Unless  you  combine  with  a  simple  design 

A  treatment  in  toto  consistent. 


68 


TO   POSTUMUS 


OPOSTUMUS,  my  Postumus,  the  years 
are  gliding  past, 
And  piety  will  never  check  the  wrinkles 

coming  fast, 
The  ravages  of  time  old  age's  swift  advance 

has  made, 

And  death,  which  unimpeded  comes  to  bear 
us  to  the  shade. 

Old  friend,  although  the  tearless  Pluto  you 

may  strive  to  please, 
And  seek  each  year  with  thrice  one  hundred 

bullocks  to  appease, 
Who   keeps   the  thrice-huge  Geryon   and 

Tityus  his  slaves, 
Imprisoned  fast  forevermore  with  cold  and 

sombre  waves, 

69 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE   FARM 

Yet  must  that  flood  so  terrible  be  sailed  by 
mortals  all; 

Whether  perchance  we  may  be  kings  and 
live  in  royal  hall, 

Or  lowly  peasants  struggling  long  with  pov 
erty  and  dearth, 

Still  must  we  cross  who  live  upon  the  favors 
of  the  earth. 

And  all  in  vain  from  bloody  war  and  contest 
we  are  free, 

And  from  the  waves  that  hoarsely  break 
upon  the  Adrian  Sea; 

For  our  frail  bodies  all  in  vain  our  he'->less 
terror  grows 

In  gloomy  autumn  seasons,  when  the  bane 
ful  south  wind  blows. 

Alas!  the  black  Cocytus,  wandering  to  the 

world  below, 
That  languid  river  to  behold  we  of  this  earth 

must  go; 

70 


ECHOES  FROM  THE  SABINE  FARM 

To  see  the  grim  Danaides,  that  miserable 
race, 

And  Sisyphus  of  SEolus,  condemned  to  end 
less  chase. 

Behind  you  must  you  leave  your  home  and 

land  and  wife  so  dear, 
And  of  the  trees,  except  the  hated  cypresses, 

you  rear, 
And  which  around  the  funeral  piles  as  signs 

of  mourning  grow, 
Not  one  will  follow  you,  their  short-lived 

master,  there  below. 

j». 
Your  worthier  heir  the  precious  Gecuban 

shall  drink  galore, 
Now  with  a  hundred  keys  preserved  and 

guarded  in  your  store, 
And  stain  the  pavements,   pouring  out  in 

waste  the  nectar  proud, 
Better  than  that  with  which  the  pontiffs' 

feasts  have  been  endowed. 


TO  MISTRESS  PYRRHA 


WHAT  perfumed, posie-dizened  sirrah, 
With  smiles  for  diet, 
Clasps  you,  O  fair  but  faithless  Pyrrha, 

On  the  quiet  ? 
For  whom  do  you  bind  up  your  tresses, 

As  spun-gold  yellow, — 
Meshes  that  go  with  your  caresses, 
To  snare  a  fellow  ? 

How  will  he  rail  at  fate  capricious, 

And  curse  you  duly, 
Yet  now  he  deems  your  wiles  delicious, — 

You  perfect,  truly! 
Pyrrha,  your  love  's  a  treacherous  ocean ; 

He  '11  soon  fall  in  there ! 
Then  shall  I  gloat  on  his  commotion, 

For  /  have  been  there! 
72 


TO  MISTRESS  PYRRHA 


WHAT  dainty  boy  with  sweet  per 
fumes  bedewed 

Has  lavished  kisses,  Pyrrha,  in  the  cave  ? 
For  whom  amid  the  roses,  many-hued, 
Do  you  bind  back  your  tresses'  yellow  wave  ? 

How  oft  will  he  deplore  your  fickle  whim, 
And  wonder  at  the  storm  and  roughening 

deeps, 

Who  now  enjoys  you,  all  in  all  to  him, 
And  dreams  of  you,  whose  only  thoughts 

he  keeps. 

7? 


ECHOES   FROM  THE   SABINE   FARM 

Wretched  are  they  to  whom  you  seem  so 

fair ; — 
That  I  escaped  the  storms,  the  gods  be 

praised! 

My  dripping  garments,  offered  with  a  prayer, 
Stand  as  a  tablet  to  the  sea-god  raised. 


74 


TO  MELPOMENE 


EFTY  and  enduring  is  the  monument  I  've 
reared : 

Come,  tempests,  with  your  bitterness  as 
sailing; 
And  thou,  corrosive  blasts  of  time,  by  all 

things  mortal  feared, 
Thy  buffets  and  thy  rage  are  unavailing! 

I  shall  not  altogether  die :  by  far  my  greater 

part 
Shall  mock  man's  common  fate  in  realms 

infernal ; 
My  works  shall  live  as  tributes  to  my  genius 

and  my  art, — 

My  works  shall  be  my  monument  eternal ! 
75 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

While  this  great  Roman  empire  stands  and 

gods  protect  our  fanes, 
Mankind  with  grateful  hearts  shall  tell  the 

story 
How  one  most  lowly  born  upon  the  parched 

Apulian  plains 
First  raised  the  native  lyric  muse  to  glory. 

Assume,  revered  Melpomene,  the  proud  es 
tate  I  've  won, 
And,  with  thine  own  dear  hand  the  meed 

supplying, 

Bind  thou  about  the  forehead  of  thy  cele 
brated  son 

The  Delphic  laurel-wreath  of  fame  un 
dying  ! 


76 


TO  PHYLLIS 
I 

COME,  Phyllis,  I  've  a  cask  of  wine 
That  fairly  reeks  with  precious  juices, 
And  in  your  tresses  you  shall  twine 
The  loveliest  flowers  this  vale  produces. 

My  cottage  wears  a  gracious  smile; 

The  altar,  decked  in  floral  glory, 
Yearns  for  the  lamb  which  bleats  the  while 

As  though  it  pined  for  honors  gory. 

Hither  our  neighbors  nimbly  fare, 
The  boys  agog,  the  maidens  snickering; 

And  savory  smells  possess  the  air, 
As  skyward  kitchen  flames  are  flickering. 
77 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

You  ask  what  means  this  grand  display, 
This  festive  throng  and  goodly  diet  ? 

Well,  since  you  're  bound  to  have  your  way, 
I  don't  mind  telling,  on  the  quiet. 


T  is  April  13,  as  you  know, 

A  day  and  month  devote  to  Venus, 
Whereon  was  born,  some  years  ago, 

My  very  worthy  friend,  Maecenas. 


Nay,  pay  no  heed  to  Telephus  ; 

Your  friends  agree  he  does  n't  love  you. 
The  way  he  flirts  convinces  us 

He  really  is  not  worthy  of  you. 


Aurora's  son,  unhappy  lad! 

You  know  the  fate  that  overtook  him  ? 
And  Pegasus  a  rider  had, — 

I  say  he  bad,  before  he  shook  him ! 

78 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE  FARM 

Hoc  docet  (as  you  must  agree) 

'T  is  meet  that  Phyllis  should  discover 
A  wisdom  in  preferring  me, 

And  mittening  every  other  lover. 


So  come,  O  Phyllis,  last  and  best 

Of  loves  with  which  this  heart  's  been 

smitten, 
Come,  sing  my  jealous  fears  to  rest, 

And  let  your  songs  be  those  /  've  written. 


79 


TO   PHYLLIS 
ii 

SWEET  Phyllis,  I  have  here  a  jar  of  old 
and  precious  wine, 
The  years  which  mark  its  coming  from  the 

Alban  hills  are  nine, 

And  in  the  garden  parsley,  too,  for  wreath 
ing  garlands  fair, 

And  ivy  in  profusion  to  bind  up  your  shin 
ing  hair. 

Now  smiles  the  house  with   silver;    the 

altar,  laurel-bound, 
Longs  with  the  sacrificial  blood  of  lambs  to 

drip  around; 
The  company  is  hurrying,  boys  and  maidens 

with  the  rest; 
The  flames  are  flickering  as  they  whirl  the 

dark  smoke  on  their  crest 
80 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE   FARM 

Yet  you  must  know  the  joys  to  which  you 

have  been  summoned  here 
To  keep  the  Ides  of  April,  to  the  sea-born 

Venus  dear, — 
Ah,   festal  day  more  sacred  than  my  own 

fair  day  of  birth, 
Since  from  its  dawn   my   loved   Maecenas 

counts  his  years  of  earth. 

A  rich  and  wanton  girl  has  caught,  as  suited 
to  her  mind, 

The  Telephus  whom  you  desire, — a  youth 
not  of  your  kind. 

She  holds  him  bound  with  pleasing  chains, 
the  fetters  of  her  charms, — 

Remember  how  scorched  Phaethon  ambi 
tious  hopes  alarms. 

The  winged  Pegasus  the  rash  Bellerophon 

has  chafed, 
To  you  a  grave  example  for  reflection  has 

vouchsafed, — 

81 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE   FARM 

Always  to  follow  what  is  meet,  and  never 
try  to  catch 

That  which  is  not  allowed  to  you,  an  inap 
propriate  match. 

Come  now,  sweet  Phyllis,  of  my  loves  the 

last,  and  hence  the  best 
(For  nevermore  shall  other  girls  inflame  this 

manly  breast) ; 
Learn  loving  measures  to  rehearse  as  we 

may  stroll  along, 
And  dismal  cares  shall  fly  away  and  vanish 

at  your  song. 


TO  CHLOE 


WHY  do  you  shun  me,  Chloe,  like  the 
fawn, 

That,  fearful  of  the  breezes  and  the  wood, 
Has  sought  her  timorous  mother  since  the 

dawn, 

And  on  the  pathless  mountain  tops  has 
stood  ? 

Her  trembling  heart  a  thousand  fears  invites, 
Her  sinking  knees  with  nameless  terrors 

shake, — 
Whether  the  rustling  leaf  of  spring  affrights, 

Or  the  green  lizards  stir  the  slumbering 
brake. 

83 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

I  do  not  follow  with  a  tigerish  thought, 
Or  with  the  fierce  Gaetulian  lion's  quest; 

So,    quickly   leave    your    mother,    as  you 

ought, 
Full  ripe  to  nestle  on  a  husband's  breast. 


84 


TO  CHLOE 
ii 

CHLOE,  you  shun  me  like  a  hind 
That,  seeking  vainly  for  her  mother, 
Hears  danger  in  each  breath  of  wind, 
And  wildly  darts  this  way  and  t'  other; 

Whether  the  breezes  sway  the  wood 
Or  lizards  scuttle  through  the  brambles, 

She  starts,  and  off,  as  though  pursued, 
The  foolish,  frightened  creature  scrambles. 

But,  Chloe,  you  're  no  infant  thing 
That  should  esteem  a  man  an  ogre; 

Let  go  your  mother's  apron-string, 
And  pin  your  faith  upon  a  toga! 


HI 
A   PARAPHRASE 

HOW  happens  it,  my  cruel  miss, 
You  're  always  giving  me  the  mitten  ? 
You  seem  to  have  forgotten  this : 
That  you  no  longer  are  a  kitten ! 

A  woman  that  has  reached  the  years 
Of  that  which  people  call  discretion 

Should  put  aside  all  childish  fears 
And  see  in  courtship  no  transgression. 

A  mother's  solace  may  be  sweet, 
But  Hymen's  tenderness  is  sweeter; 

And  though  all  virile  love  be  meet, 
You  '11  find  the  poet's  love  is  metre. 


86 


IV 


A  PARAPHRASE,  CIRCA   1715 

SINCE  Chloe  is  so  monstrous  fair, 
With  such  an  eye  and  such  an  air, 
What  wonder  that  the  world  complains 
When  she  each  am'rous  suit  disdains  ? 

Close  to  her  mother's  side  she  clings, 
And  mocks  the  death  her  folly  brings 
To  gentle  swains  that  feel  the  smarts 
Her  eyes  inflict  upon  their  hearts. 

Whilst  thus  the  years  of  youth  go  by, 
Shall  Colin  languish,  Strephon  die  ? 
Nay,  cruel  nymph !  come,  choose  a  mate, 
And  choose  him  ere  it  be  too  late ! 


A   PARAPHRASE,  BY   DR.  I.  W. 

WHY,  Mistress  Chloe,  do  you  bother 
With  prattlings  and  with  vain  ado 
Your  worthy  and  industrious  mother, 
Eschewing  them  that  come  to  woo  ? 

Oh,  that  the  awful  truth  might  quicken 
This  stern  conviction  to  your  breast: 

You  are  no  longer  now  a  chicken 
Too  young  to  quit  the  parent  nest. 

So  put  aside  your  froward  carriage, 
And  fix  your  thoughts,  whilst  yet  there  's 
time, 

Upon  the  righteousness  of  marriage 
With  some  such  godly  man  as  I  'm. 


88 


VI 
A   PARAPHRASE,  BY   CHAUCER 

SYN  that  you,   Chloe,   to  your  moder 
sticken, 

Maketh  all  ye  yonge  bacheloures  full  sicken ; 
Like  as  a  lyttel  deere  you  ben  y-hiding 
Whenas  come  lovers  with  theyre   pityse 

chiding. 

Sothly  it  ben  faire  to  give  up  your  moder 
For  to  beare  swete  company  with  some  oder ; 
Your  moder  ben  well  enow  so  farre  shee 

goeth, 

But  that  ben  not  farre  enow,  God  knoweth ; 
Wherefore  it  ben  sayed  that  foolysh  ladyes 
That  marrye  not  shall  leade  an  aype  in  Hadys ; 
But  all  that  do  with  gode  men  wed  full 

quicklye 
When  that  they  be  on  dead  go  to  ye  seints 

full  sickerly. 

89 


TO  M/ECENAS 

THAN  you,  O  valued  friend  of  mine, 
A  better  patron  non  cstf 
Come,  quaff  my  home-made  Sabine  wine,- 
You  '11  find  it  poor  but  honest. 

I  put  it  up  that  famous  day 

You  patronized  the  ballet, 
And  the  public  cheered  you  such  a  way 

As  shook  your  native  valley. 

Caecuban  and  the  Calean  brand 
May  elsewhere  claim  attention; 

But  /have  none  of  these  on  hand, — 
For  reasons  1  '11  not  mention. 
90 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 
ENVOY 

So,  come!  though  favors  I  bestow 

Cannot  be  called  extensive, 
Who  better  than  my  friend  should  know 

That  they  're  at  least  expensive  ? 


9< 


TO   BAR1NE 


IF  for  your  oath  broken,  or  word  lightly 
spoken, 

A  plague  comes,  Barine,  to  grieve  you; 
If  on  tooth  or  on  finger  a  black  mark  shall 

linger 
Your  beauty  to  mar,  I  '11  believe  you. 

But  no  sooner,  the  fact  is,  you  bind,  as  your 

tact  is, 

Your  head  with  the  vows  of  untruth, 
Than  you  shine  out  more  charming,  and, 

what  's  more  alarming, 
You  come  forth  beloved  of  our  youth. 
92 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SAB1NE   FARM 

It  is  advantageous,  but  no  less  outrageous, 
Your  poor  mother's  ashes  to  cheat; 
While  the  gods  of  creation  and  each  con 
stellation 
You  seem  to  regard  as  your  meat. 


Now  Venus,  1  own  it,  is  pleased  to  con 
done  it; 

The  good-natured  nymphs  merely  smile; 

And  Cupid  is  merry, —  't  is  humorous, 
very,— 

And  sharpens  his  arrows  the  while. 


Our  boys  you  are  making  the  slaves  for 

your  taking, 

A  new  band  is  joined  to  the  old; 
While  the  horrified   matrons  your  juvenile 

patrons 
In  vain  would  bring  back  to  the  fold. 

93 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

The  thrifty  old  fellows  your  loveliness  mel 
lows 

Confess  to  a  dread  of  your  house; 

But  a  more  pressing  duty,  in  view  of  your 
beauty, 

Is  the  young  wife's  concern  for  her  spouse. 


94 


THE  RECONCILIATION 

i 

HE 

WHEN  you  were  mine,  in  auld  lang 
syne, 
And  when  none  else  your  charms  might 

ogle, 

I  '11  not  deny,  fair  nymph,  that  I 
Was  happier  than  a  heathen  mogul. 

SHE 

Before  she  came,  that  rival  flame 
(Had  ever  mater  saucier  filia  ?), 

In  those  good  times,  bepraised  in  rhymes, 
I  was  more  famed  than  Mother  Ilia. 

95 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE   FARM 
HE 

Chloe  of  Thrace!    With  what  a  grace 
Does  she  at  song  or  harp  employ  her! 

I  'd  gladly  die,  if  only  I 
Could  live  forever  to  enjoy  her! 

SHE 

My  Sybaris  so  noble  is 

That,  by  the  gods,  I  love  him  madly! 
That  I  might  save  him  from  the  grave, 

I  'd  give  my  life,  and  give  it  gladly! 

HE 

What  if  ma  belle  from  favor  fell, 
And  I  made  up  my  mind  to  shake  her; 

Would  Lydia  then  come  back  again, 
And  to  her  quondam  love  betake  her  ? 

SHE 

My  other  beau  should  surely  go, 

And  you  alone  should  find  me  gracious; 
For  no  one  slings  such  odes  and  things 

As  does  the  lauriger  Horatius! 
96 


THE  RECONCILIATION 


HORACE 

WHILE  favored  by  thy  smiles  no  other 
youth  in  amorous  teasing 
Around  thy  snowy  neck  his  folding  arms 

was  wont  to  fling; 
As  long  as  I  remained  your  love,  acceptable 

and  pleasing, 

I  lived  a  life  of  happiness  beyond  the  Per 
sian  king. 

LYDIA 

While  Lydia  ranked  Chloe  in  your  unre 
served  opinion, 

And  for  no  other  cherished  thou  a  brighter, 
livelier  flame, 

97 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE  FARM 

I,  Lydia,  distinguished  throughout  the  whole 

dominion, 

Surpassed  the  Roman  Ilia  in  eminence  of 
fame. 

HORACE 

T  is  now  the  Thracian  Chloe  whose  accom 
plishments  inthrall  me, — 
So  sweet  in  modulations,  such  a  mistress 

of  the  lyre. 
In  truth  the  fates,  however  terrible,  could 

not  appall  me; 

If  they  would  spare  her,  sweet  my  soul,  I 
gladly  would  expire. 

LYDIA 

And  now  the  son  of  Ornytus,  young  Calais, 

inflames  me 

With  mutual,  restless  passion  and  an  all- 
consuming  fire; 

And   if  the  fates,    however  dread,    would 
spare  the  youth  who  claims  me, 
98 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Not  only  once  would  I  face  death,  but 
gladly  twice  expire. 

HORACE 

What  if  our  early  love  returns  to  prove  we 

were  mistaken 
And  bind  with  brazen  yoke  the  twain,  to 

part,  ah !  nevermore  ? 
What  if  the  charming  Chloe  of  the  golden 

locks  be  shaken 

And  slighted  Lydia  again  glide  through 
the  open  door  ? 

LYDIA 

Though  he  is  fairer  than  the  star  that  shines 

so  far  above  you, 
Thou  lighter  than  a  cork,  more   stormy 

than  the  Adrian  Sea, 
Still  should  I  long  to  live  with  you,  to  live 

for  you  and  love  you, 
And  cheerfully  see  death's  approach  if 
thou  wert  near  to  me. 

99 


THE   ROASTING   OF  LYDIA 


NO  more  your  needed  rest  at  night 
By  ribald  youth  is  troubled; 
No  more  your  windows,  fastened  tight. 
Yield  to  their  knocks  redoubled. 

No  longer  you  may  hear  them  cry, 
"  Why  art  thou,  Lydia,  lying 

In  heavy  sleep  till  morn  is  nigh, 
While  I,  your  love,  am  dying?" 

Grown  old  and  faded,  you  bewail 

The  rake's  insulting  sally, 
While  round  your  home  the  Thracian  gale 

Storms  through  the  lonely  alley. 

100 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

What  furious  thoughts  will  fill  your  breast, 
What  passions,  fierce  and  tinglish 

(Cannot  be  properly  expressed 
In  calm,  reposeful  English). 

Learn  this,  and  hold  your  carping  tongue: 

Youth  will  be  found  rejoicing 
In  ivy  green  and  myrtle  young, 

The  praise  of  fresh  life  voicing; 

And  not  content  to  dedicate, 

With  much  protesting  shiver, 
The  sapless  leaves  to  winter's  mate, 

Hebrus,  the  cold  dark  river. 


101 


TO  GLYCERA 

THE  cruel  mother  of  the  Loves, 
And  other  Powers  offended, 
Have  stirred  my  heart,  where  newly  roves 
The  passion  that  was  ended. 

T  is  Glycera,  to  boldness  prone, 
Whose  radiant  beauty  fires  me; 

While  fairer  than  the  Parian  stone 
Her  dazzling  face  inspires  me. 

And  on  from  Cyprus  Venus  speeds, 

Forbidding  —  ah!  the  pity  - 
The  Scythian  lays,  the  Parthian  meeds, 

And  such  irrelevant  ditty. 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Here,  boys,  bring  turf  and  vervain  too ; 

Have  bowls  of  wine  adjacent; 
And  ere  our  sacrifice  is  through 

She  may  be  more  complaisant. 


105 


TO  LYDIA 

i 

WHEN,  Lydia,  you   (once  fond  and 
true, 

But  now  grown  cold  and  supercilious) 

Praise  Telly's  charms  of  neck  and  arms  — 

Well,  by  the  dog!  it  makes  me  bilious! 

Then  with  despite  my  cheeks  wax  white, 
My  doddering  brain  gets  weak  and  giddy, 

My  eyes  o'erflow  with  tears  which  show 
That  passion  melts  my  vitals,  Liddy! 

Deny,  false  jade,  your  escapade, 
And,  lo!  your  wounded  shoulders  show 

it! 

No  manly  spark  left  such  a  mark  — 
Leastwise  he  surely  was  no  poet! 
104 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE  FARM 

With  savage  buss  did  Telephus 

Abraid  your  lips,  so  plump  and  mellow; 
As  you  would  save  what  Venus  gave, 

I  charge  you  shun  that  awkward  fellow ! 

And  now  I  say  thrice  happy  they 
That  call  on  Hymen  to  requite  'em ; 

For,  though  love  cools,  the  wedded  fools 
Must  cleave  till  death  doth  disunite  'em. 


105 


TO    LYDIA 


WHEN  praising  Telephus  you  sing 
His  rosy  neck  and  waxen  arms, 
Forgetful  of  the  pangs  that  wring 
This  heart  for  my  neglected  charms, 

Soft  down  my  cheek  the  tear-drop  flows, 
My  color  comes  and  goes  the  while, 
And  my  rebellious  liver  glows, 
And  fiercely  swells  with  laboring  bile. 

Perchance  yon  silly,  passionate  youth, 
Distempered  by  the  fumes  of  wine, 
Has  marred  your  shoulder  with  his  tooth, 
Or  scarred  those  rosy  lips  of  thine. 
106 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Be  warned ;  he  cannot  faithful  prove, 
Who,  with  the  cruel  kiss  you  prize, 
Has  hurt  the  little  mouth  I  love, 
Where  Venus's  own  nectar  lies. 

Whom  golden  links  unbroken  bind, 
Thrice  happy  —  more  than  thrice  are  they; 
And  constant,  both  in  heart  and  mind, 
In  love  await  the  final  day. 


107 


TO  QUINTIUS  HIRPINUS 


TO  Scythian  and  Cantabrian  plots, 
Pay  them  no  heed,  O  Quintiusl 

So  long  as  we 
From  care  are  free, 
Vexations  cannot  cinch  us. 

Unwrinkled  youth  and  grace,  forsooth, 
Speed  hand  in  hand  together; 

The  songs  we  sing 

In  time  of  spring 
Are  hushed  in  wintry  weather. 

Why,  even  flow'rs  change  with  the  hours, 
And  the  moon  has  divers  phases; 
And  shall  the  mind 
Be  racked  to  find 
A  clew  to  Fortune's  mazes  ? 
108 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Nay ;  'neath  this  tree  let  you  and  me 
Woo  Bacchus  to  caress  us; 
We  're  old,  't  is  true, 
But  still  we  two 
Are  thoroughbreds,  God  bless  us! 

While  the  wine  gets  cool  in  yonder  pool. 
Let 's  spruce  up  nice  and  tidy; 
Who  knows,  old  boy, 
But  we  may  decoy 
The  fair  but  furtive  Lyde  ? 

She  can  execute  on  her  ivory  lute 
Sonatas  full  of  passion, 

And  she  bangs  her  hair 

(Which  is  passing  fair) 
In  the  good  old  Spartan  fashion. 


109 


WINE,  WOMEN,   AND  SONG 


OVARUS  mine, 
Plant  thou  the  vine 
Within  this  kindly  soil  of  Tibur; 

Nor  temporal  woes, 

Nor  spiritual,  knows 
The  man  who  's  a  discreet  imbiber. 

For  who  doth  croak 

Of  being  broke, 
Or  who  of  warfare,  after  drinking  ? 

With  bowl  atween  us, 

Of  smiling  Venus 
And  Bacchus  shall  we  sing,  I  'm  thinking. 

Of  symptoms  fell 
Which  brawls  impel, 
Historic  data  give  us  warning; 
The  wretch  who  fights 
When  full,  of  nights, 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Is  bound  to  have  a  head  next  morning. 

I  do  not  scorn 

A  friendly  horn, 
But  noisy  toots,  I  can't  abide  'em ! 

Your  howling  bat 

Is  stale  and  flat 
To  one  who  knows,  because  he  's  tried  'em ! 

The  secrets  of 

The  life  I  love 
(Companionship  with  girls  and  toddy) 

I  would  not  drag 

With  drunken  brag 
Into  the  ken  of  everybody ; 

But  in  the  shade 

Let  some  coy  maid 
With  smilax  wreathe  my  flagon's  nozzle, 

Then  all  day  long, 

With  mirth  and  song, 
Shall  I  enjoy  a  quiet  sozzle ! 


in 


o 


AN  ODE   TO   FORTUNE 


LADY    FORTUNE!   't  is  to  thee  I 
call, 
Dwelling  at  Antium,  thou  hast  power  to 

crown 
The  veriest  clod  with  riches  and  renown, 

And  change  a  triumph  to  a  funeral. 
The  tillers  of  the  soil  and  they  that  vex  the 

seas, 

Confessing  thee  supreme,  on  bended  knees 
Invoke  thee,  all. 

Of   Dacian    tribes,    of  roving    Scythian 

bands, 
Of  cities,  nations,  lawless  tyrants  red 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE   FARM 

With  guiltless  blood,  art  thou  the  haunting 

dread ; 

Within  thy  path  no  human  valor  stands, 
And,  arbiter  of  empires,  at  thy  frown 
The    sceptre,   once  supreme,   slips    surely 

down 
From  kingly  hands. 

Necessity  precedes  thee  in  thy  way; 
Hope  fawns  on  thee,  and  Honor,  too,   is 

seen 

Dancing  attendance  with  obsequious  mien; 
But  with  what  coward  and  abject  dismay 
The  faithless  crowd  and  treacherous  wan 
tons  fly 
When  once  their  jars  of  luscious  wine  run 

dry,— 
Such  ingrates  they! 

Fortune,  I  call  on  thee  to  bless 
Our  king, —  our  Caesar  girt  for  foreign  wars! 
Help  him  to  heal  these  fratricidal  scars 
in 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE   FARM 

That  speak  degenerate  shame  and  wicked 
ness; 
And  forge  anew  our  impious  spears  and 

swords, 
Wherewith    we     may    against    barbarian 

hordes 
Our  Past  redress! 


114 


TO  A  JAR  OF  WINE 


O    GRACIOUS   jar, —  my   friend,    my 
twin, 

Born  at  the  time  when  I  was  born, — 
Whether  tomfoolery  you  inspire 
Or  animate  with  love's  desire, 

Or  flame  the  soul  with  bitter  scorn, 
Or  lull  to  sleep,  O  jar  of  mine! 

Come  from  your  place  this  festal  day; 

Corvinus  hither  wends  his  way, 
And  there  's  demand  for  wine! 

Corvinus  is  the  sort  of  man 
Who  dotes  on  tedious  argument. 

An  advocate,  his  ponderous  pate 
Is  full  of  Blackstone  and  of  Kent; 

Yet  not  insensible  is  he, 

O  genial  Massic  flood !  to  thee. 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SAB1NE   FARM 

Why,  even  Cato  used  to  take 

A  modest,  surreptitious  nip 
At  meal-times  for  his  stomach's  sake, 

Or  to  forefend  la  grippe. 

How  dost  thou  melt  the  stoniest  hearts, 
And  bare  the  cruel  knave's  design; 

How  through  thy  fascinating  arts 
We  discount  Hope,  O  gracious  wine! 

And  passing  rich  the  poor  man  feels 

As  through  his  veins  thy  affluence  steals. 

Now,  prithee,  make  us  frisk  and  sing, 
And  plot  full  many  a  naughty  plot 

With  damsels  fair  —  nor  shall  we  care 
Whether  school  keeps  or  not! 

And  whilst  thy  charms  hold  out  to  burn 
We  shall  not  deign  to  go  to  bed, 
But  we  shall  paint  creation  red; 

So,  fill,  sweet  wine,  this  friend  of  mine,- 
My  lawyer  friend,  as  aforesaid. 


116 


TO   POMPEIUS  VARUS 


POMPEY,  what  fortune  gives  you  back 
To  the  friends  and  the  gods  who  love 
you? 
Once  more  you  stand  in  your  native  land, 

With  your  native  sky  above  you. 
Ah,  side  by  side,  in  years  agone, 
We  've  faced  tempestuous  weather, 
And  often  quaffed 
The  genial  draught 
From  the  same  canteen  together. 

When  honor  at  Philippi  fell 

A  prey  to  brutal  passion, 
I  regret  to  say  that  my  feet  ran  away 

In  swift  Iambic  fashion. 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE  FARM 

You  were  no  poet;  soldier  born, 
You  stayed,  nor  did  you  wince  then. 
Mercury  came 
To  my  help,  which  same 
Has  frequently  saved  me  since  then. 

But  now  you  're  back,  let  's  celebrate 

In  the  good  old  way  and  classic; 
Come,  let  us  lard  our  skins  with  nard, 

And  bedew  our  souls  with  Massic! 
With  fillets  of  green  parsley  leaves 
Our  foreheads  shall  be  done  up; 
And  with  song  shall  we 
Protract  our  spree 
Until  the  morrow's  sun-up. 


118 


THE   POET'S  METAMORPHOSIS 


M/ECENAS,  I  propose  to  fly 
To   realms    beyond    these    human 
portals; 

No  common  things  shall  be  my  wings, 
But  such  as  sprout  upon  immortals. 

Of  lowly  birth,  once  shed  of  earth, 
Your  Horace,  precious  (so  you  've  told 
him), 

Shall  soar  away;  no  tomb  of  clay 
Nor  Stygian  prison-house  shall  hold  him. 

Upon  my  skin  feathers  begin 
To  warn  the  songster  of  his  fleeting; 

But  never  mind,  I  leave  behind 
Songs  all  the  world  shall  keep  repeating. 
119 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Lo!  Boston  girls,  with  corkscrew  curls, 
And  husky  westerns,  wild  and  woolly, 

And  southern  climes  shall  vaunt  my  rhymes, 
And  all  profess  to  know  me  fully. 

Methinks  the  West  shall  know  me  best, 
And  therefore  hold  my  memory  dearer; 

For  by  that  lake  a  bard  shall  make 
My  subtle,  hidden  meanings  clearer. 

So  cherished,  I  shall  never  die; 

Pray,    therefore,    spare    your    dolesome 

praises, 
Your  elegies,  and  plaintive  cries, 

For  I  shall  fertilize  no  daisies! 


TO  VENUS 


VENUS,  dear  Cnidian-Paphian  queen! 
Desert  that  Cyprus  way  off  yonder, 
And  fare  you  hence,  where  with  incense 

My  Glycera  would  have  you  fonder; 
And  to  your  joy  bring  hence  your  boy, 
The  Graces  with  unbelted  laughter, 
The  Nymphs,  and  Youth, —  then,  then,  in 

sooth, 
Should  Mercury  come  tagging  after. 


IN  THE  SPRINGTIME 


T  IS  spring!  The  boats  bound  to  the  sea; 
The  breezes,  loitering  kindly  over 
The  fields,  again  bring  herds  and  men 
The  grateful  cheer  of  honeyed  clover. 

Now  Venus  hither  leads  her  train; 

The  Nymphs  and  Graces  join  in  orgies; 
The  moon  is  bright,  and  by  her  light 

Old  Vulcan  kindles  up  his  forges. 

Bind  myrtle  now  about  your  brow, 
And  weave  fair  flowers  in  maiden  tresses; 

Appease  god  Pan,  who,  kind  to  man, 
Our  fleeting  life  with  affluence  blesses; 

122 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

But  let  the  changing  seasons  mind  us, 
That  Death  's  the  certain  doom  of  mor 
tals,  — 

Grim  Death,  who  waits  at  humble  gates, 
And  likewise  stalks  through  kingly  por 
tals. 

Soon,  Sestius,  shall  Plutonian  shades 
Enfold  you  with  their  hideous  seemings; 

Then  love  and  mirth  and  joys  of  earth 
Shall  fade  away  like  fevered  dream  ings. 


123 


IN  THE  SPRINGTIME 


THE  western  breeze  is  springing  up,  the 
ships  are  in  the  bay, 
And  spring  has  brought  a  happy  change  as 

winter  melts  away. 
No  more  in  stall  or  fire  the  herd  or  plowman 

finds  delight; 

No  longer  with  the  biting  frosts  the  open 
fields  are  white. 

Our  Lady  of  Cythera  now  prepares  to  lead 

the  dance, 
While  from  above  the  kindly  moon  gives  an 

approving  glance; 
124 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE  FARM 

The  Nymphs  and  comely  Graces  join  with 

Venus  and  the  choir, 
And  Vulcan's  glowing  fancy  lightly  turns  to 

thoughts  of  fire. 

Now  it  is  time  with  myrtle  green  to  crown 

the  shining  pate, 
And  with  the  early  blossoms  of  the  spring  to 

decorate ; 
To  sacrifice  to  Faunus,  on  whose  favor  we 

rely, 
A  sprightly  lamb,  mayhap  a  kid,  as  he  may 

specify. 

Impartially  the  feet  of  Death  at  huts  and 

castles  strike; 
The  influenza  carries  off  the  rich  and  poor 

alike. 
O  Sestius,  though  blessed  you  are  beyond 

the  common  run, 
Life  is  too  short  to  cherish  e'en  a  distant  hope 

begun. 

125 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

The  Shades  and  Pluto's  mansion  follow  hard 
upon  the  grip. 

Once  there  you  cannot  throw  the  dice,  nor 
taste  the  wine  you  sip; 

Nor  look  on  blooming  Lycidas,  whose  beauty 
you  commend, 

To  whom  the  girls  will  presently  their  cour 
tesies  extend. 


120 


TO  A  BULLY 


YOU,  blatant  coward  that  you  are, 
Upon  the  helpless  vent  your  spite. 
Suppose  you  ply  your  trade  on  me; 
Come,  monkey  with  this  bard,  and  see 
How  I  '11  repay  your  bark  with  bite! 

Ay,  snarl  just  once  at  me,  you  brute! 

And  I  shall  hound  you  far  and  wide, 
As  fiercely  as  through  drifted  snow 
The  shepherd  dog  pursues  what  foe 

Skulks  on  the  Spartan  mountain-side. 

The  chip  is  on  my  shoulder  —  see? 

But  touch  it  and  I  '11  raise  your  fur; 
I  'm  full  of  business,  so  beware! 
For,  though  I  'm  loaded  up  for  bear, 

I  'm  quite  as  like  to  kill  a  cur! 
127 


TO  MOTHER  VENUS 


O  MOTHER  VENUS,  quit,  I  pray, 
Your  violent  assailing! 
The  arts,  forsooth,  that  fired  my  youth 

At  last  are  unavailing; 
My  blood  runs  cold,  I  'm  getting  old, 
And  all  my  powers  are  failing. 

Speed  thou  upon  thy  white  swans'  wings, 
And  elsewhere  deign  to  mellow 

With  thy  soft  arts  the  anguished  hearts 
Of  swains  that  writhe  and  bellow; 

And  right  away  seek  out,  I  pray, 
Young  Paullus, —  he  's  your  fellow! 
128 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

You  '11  find  young  Paullus  passing  fair, 
Modest,  refined,  and  tony; 

Go,  now,  incite  the  favored  wight! 
With  Venus  for  a  crony 

He  '11  outshine  all  at  feast  and  ball 
And  conversazione! 


Then  shall  that  godlike  nose  of  thine 

With  perfumes  be  requited, 
And  then  shall  prance  in  Salian  dance 

The  girls  and  boys  delighted, 
And  while  the  lute  blends  with  the  flute 

Shall  tender  loves  be  plighted. 


But  as  for  me,  as  you  can  see, 
I  'm  getting  old  and  spiteful. 

I  have  no  mind  to  female  kind, 
That  once  I  deemed  delightful; 

No  more  brim  up  the  festive  cup 
That  sent  me  home  at  night  full. 
129 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Why  do  I  falter  in  my  speech, 

O  cruel  Ligurine  ? 
Why  do  I  chase  from  place  to  place 

In  weather  wet  and  shiny  ? 
Why  down  my  nose  forever  flows 

The  tear  that  's  cold  and  briny  ? 


110 


TO  LYDIA 

TELL  me,  Lydia,  tell  me  why, 
By  the  gods  that  dwell  above, 
Sybaris  makes  haste  to  die 

Through  your  cruel,  fatal  love. 

Now  he  hates  the  sunny  plain; 

Once  he  loved  its  dust  and  heat. 
Now  no  more  he  leads  the  train 

Of  his  peers  on  coursers  fleet. 

Now  he  dreads  the  Tiber's  touch, 

And  avoids  the  wrestling-rings, — 

He  who  formerly  was  such 

An  expert  with  quoits  and  things. 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE   FARM 

Come,  now,  Mistress  Lydia,  say 
Why  your  Sybaris  lies  hid, 

Why  he  shuns  the  martial  play, 
As  we  're  told  Achilles  did. 


132 


TO  NEOBULE 

A  SORRY  life,  forsooth,  these  wretched 
girls  are  undergoing, 
Restrained  from  draughts  of  pleasant  wine, 

from  loving  favors  showing, 
For  fear  an  uncle's  tongue  a  reprimand  will 
be  bestowing ! 

Sweet  Cytherea's  winged  boy  deprives  you 
of  your  spinning, 

And  Hebrus,  Neobule,  his  sad  havoc  is  be 
ginning, 

Just  as  Minerva  thriftily  gets  ready  for  an 
inning. 

133 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE  FARM 

Who  could  resist  this  gallant  youth,  as  Ti 
ber's  waves  he  breasted, 

Or  when  the  palm  of  riding  from  Bellero- 
phon  he  wrested, 

Or  when  with  fists  and  feet  the  sluggers 
easily  he  bested  ? 

He  shot  the  fleeing  stags  with  regularity 
surprising; 

The  way  he  intercepted  boars  was  quite  be 
yond  surmising,— 

No  wonder  that  your  thoughts  this  youth 
has  been  monopolizing! 

So  I  repeat  that  with  these  maids  fate  is 

unkindly  dealing, 
Who  never  can  in  love's  affair  give  license 

to  their  feeling, 
Or  share  those  sweet   emotions  when  a 

gentle  jag  is  stealing. 


'34 


AT  THE   BALL  GAME 


WHAT  gods  or  heroes,  whose  brave 
deeds  none  can  dispute, 
Will  you  record,  O  Clio,  on  the  harp  and 

flute? 
What  lofty  names  shall  sportive  Echo  grant 

a  place 

On  Pindus'  crown  or  Helicon's  cool,  shadowy 
space  ? 

Sing  not,  my  Orpheus,   sweeping  oft  the 

tuneful  strings, 
Of  gliding  streams  and  nimble  winds  and 

such  poor  things; 
But  lend  your  measures  to  a  theme  of  noble 

thought, 
And  crown  with  laurel  these  great  heroes, 

as  you  ought. 

•35 


Now  steps  Ryanus  forth  at  call  of  furious 

Mars, 
And  from  his  oaken  staff  the  sphere  speeds 

to  the  stars ; 
And  now  he  gains  the  tertiary  goal,  and 

turns, 
While  whiskered  balls  play  round  the  timid 

staff  of  Burns. 

Lo !  from  the  tribunes  on  the  bleachers  comes 

a  shout, 

Beseeching  bold  Ansonius  to  line  'em  out; 
And  as  Apollo's  flying  chariot  cleaves  the 

sky, 
So  stanch  Ansonius  lifts  the  frightened  ball  on 

high. 

Like  roar  of  ocean  beating  on  the  Cretan 

cliff, 
The  strong  Kdmiske  gives  the  panting  sphere 

a  biff; 

.36 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE  FARM 

And  from  the  tribunes  rise  loud  murmurs 

everywhere, 
When  twice  and  thrice  Mikellius  beats  the 

mocking  air. 

And  as  Achilles'  fleet  the  Trojan  waters 

sweeps, 
So    horror   sways  the  throng, —  Pfefferius 

sleeps ! 
And  stalwart  Konnor,  though  by  Mercury 

inspired, 
The  Equus  Carolus  defies,  and  is  retired. 

So  waxes  fierce  the  strife  between  these  god 
like  men ; 

And  as  the  hero's  fame  grows  by  Virgilian 
pen, 

So  let  Clarksonius  Maximus  be  raised  to 
heights 

As  far  above  the  moon  as  moon  o'er  lesser 
lights. 

137 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

But  as  for  me,  the  ivy  leaf  is  my  reward, 
If  you  a  place  among  the  lyric  bards  accord ; 
With  crest  exalted,  and  O  "People,"  with 

delight, 
1  '11  proudly  strike  the  stars,  and  so  be  out 

of  sight. 


•  38 


EPILOGUE 

THE  day  is  done;  and,  lo!  the  shades 
Melt  'neath  Diana's  mellow  grace. 
Hark,  how  those  deep,  designing  maids 

Feign  terror  in  this  sylvan  place ! 
Come,  friends,  it 's  time  that  we  should  go; 
We  're  honest  married  folk,  you  know. 

Was  not  the  wine  delicious  cool 
Whose    sweetness    Pyrrha's    smile    en 
hanced? 
And  by  that  clear  Bandusian  pool 

How  gayly  Chloe  sung  and  danced! 
And  Lydia  Die, —  aha,  methinks 
You  '11  not  forget  the  saucy  minx! 
139 


ECHOES   FROM   THE  SABINE   FARM 

But,  oh,  the  echoes  of  those  songs 
That  soothed  our  cares  and  lulled  our 
hearts ! 

Not  to  that  age  nor  this  belongs 
The  glory  of  what  heaven-born  arts 

Speak  with  the  old  distinctive  charm 

From  yonder  humble  Sabine  farm ! 

The  day  is  done.    Now  off  to  bed, 
Lest  by  some  rural  ruse  surprised, 

And  by  those  artful  girls  misled, 
You  two  be  sadly  compromised. 

You  go;  perhaps  /  'd  better  stay 

To  shoo  the  giddy  things  away! 

But  sometime  we  shall  meet  again 
Beside  Digentia,  cool  and  clear,— 

You  and  we  twain,  old  friend;  and  then 
We  '11  have  our  fill  of  pagan  cheer. 

Then,  could  old  Horace  join  us  three, 

How  proud  and  happy  he  would  be! 
140 


ECHOES   FROM  THE  SABINE   FARM 

Or  if  we  part  to  meet  no  more 
This  side  the  misty  Stygian  Sea, 

Be  sure  of  this :  on  yonder  shore 
Sweet  cheer  awaiteth  such  as  we; 

A  Sabine  pagan's  heaven,  O  friend, — 

The  fellowship  that  knows  no  end ! 


E.  F. 


141 


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